The Christening

Todd Duncan Tennyson

Well-known member




i never mentioned my last hunt with the old boy
it has been a year now
& i reckon it’s time to tell his last story


………………………………………………………………………………………………
about a year ago

i climbed out of bed and stumbled down the hall
down the dark stairs to the woodstove

put a few pieces of maple on hot coals from the night before
and batted back the smoke

“ol’ alex” finally got up when he felt the door on the wood stove latching up

he was deaf
& always slept with 1 eye open
he was a working dog
in another life, he’d run sheep off of the highlands of idaho and into the valleys before the snow came

his life was whistles and hand signals and endless miles over hills and canyons
he was hard and stubborn
he was smart enough to make you question yourself.




we left in the dark
not because we had to
but because we always did

we stopped in the milltown to gas up the bomber
to get a cup of coffee

all of it a part of the routine

i fumbled with the knots on the launch and muscled the boat into the darkness

o’l alex slept in the truck

he’d made the run hundreds of times

anyone that ever hunted with alex will attest that he wasted no energy
he was efficient
i suppose that is a good quality

i launched just before dawn
shook the old boy awake and picked him up to put him into the bomber

he wasn’t built like other waterfowl dogs
he was about 78 lbs and quite tall

he had a very deep chest and not a lot of cork to his body
if he stopped paddling, he’d sink like a stone

when he was younger
we ran jackrabbits out on the sage

by god, he was a turbocharged hound
i have never seen a dog cover ground like alex did




he took position on the bow and i fired up the motor
hit the headlights
plowed through the waters until we started to glide on plane

we found a cove where the lighting might lend itself for a few photos and a memorable day

he watched me put out a long line and a few singles

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he slipped into his m.o. and stood point
his ears were shot
his body sore
his fortitude remained

i always admired ol’ alex
he never gave up
he was not a quitter

he worked it out
until it all worked out


we had some birds come by
finally a shot made itself available


the old black dog was on autopilot now
i didn’t have to tell him where to go
i didn’t have to tell him what to do

because it was all a part of him
it was the final chapter in his life of work

it was something to see
i stood there and watched the dog that was going to be put down about 12 years earlier

because he was “ill tempered, not trainable, and stupid”
as he brought back his bird
all on his own

i laughed and yelled at him when he was about 40 yards out “you realize that you are “ill tempered, not trainable, and stupid?”

he did not care
he was too busy working to care

soon he was back in the boat and ready to work some more

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i sat with him a while and we thought about things
i remembered all of the times we went out to chase grouse and rabbits and badgers

i asked the old dog, “do you think we did everything we were supposed to do?”

the old boy looked back at me
his fur a mess
his muzzle frosted with years of service
his nose scraped and scarred from barbed wire and fights

“i am certain that we did” he said

we sat for a few minutes just looking out over the water
waves lapped gently at the side of the boat
the little propane heater letting out heat

soon more birds to get to
and he was off and into the water


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“good boy alex” i yelled

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he brought his bird aboard the bomber
and shook off

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that was our limit

i took a photo of the old boy with his birds

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we sat in the boat for a few more minutes and watched the birds landing in the spread
bufflers, bluebills.

the sun was on the water and it reflected right on us
especially on us

i said, “well, i reckon we’d better pull in the lines and make it back to the launch”

the old boy agreed

as we were idling and pulling in the lines
ol’ alex made a strange sound.

he was never a very vocal dog
never ever heard him howl
never heard him whine

but he was whining now

i looked him over, and he was ok, no blood or fish hooks.


he took up a spot on the bow of the bomber and let out a long howl
he did it a couple of times

it was haunting and beautiful
i cut the motor and let the old boy sing

we drifted along on the glassy water
his calls echoed off of the canyons
through the cottonwoods
all up and down the riverside

never in my time with him had i seen witnessed this kind of behavior


i guess it was his death song

he came down from the bow and stretched and yawned

then he pissed on the propane heater til he doused it entirely

i laughed,
“well i said, i suppose that the boat never did have a proper christening, maybe this is appropriate enough”

a thick blast of steam and a smell i’ll never forget rolled like thick white smoke out along the river

it hung in a cloud and blew out to sea over the big water

“i reckon you’ve left your mark and staked your claim alex, this boat and this place on the river is yours now”

we made our way back to the place we started from
gliding along the glassy water

the old black boy took up his post on the bow and stood up strong
his chest out
his tail held high

he never looked back once.
 
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Just beautiful, Todd. These lines said so much:

[font=Verdana,Arial,Helvetica]"the old boy looked back at me
his fur a mess
his muzzle frosted with years of service
his nose scraped and scarred from barbed wire and fights

“i am certain that we did” he said"

What a marvelous writer you are. Thanks for the post and the delightful pics.
Al
[/font]
 
Todd,

I've enjoyed many of your stories about Alex. This one though reminds me of an old friend I once shared adventures in the field with. I recall his last hunt and the final retrieves of his working career. The spark in his eye as we headed out in the early morning to chase ducks. The same spark was there until the end, never wanting to let me know that he wasn't well. Your story of Alex was a pleasant reminder of so many happy memories of time shared with an old 4 legged friend.

Thank You
Dave Walker
 
Todd, You brought back Walkers last hunt. He was a genetic train wreck that would have been put down 3 years too soon. He had angels watching him and his good luck works still for me. I carry the part of his hip every day that a surgeon cut off his femur when he was less than a year old. We had a wonderful 3 seasons and then just like that cancer took him away from us. Thanks for the story
 
If only we could all be so lucky to know, to be certain, that we did what we needed to do.

Great post as always Todd.

KT
 
Todd

Thank you for sharing such a beautiful memory with us.

Your unique writing style and great pics do much to impart the flavor of the moment and the character of your friend. This is great art. Thanks again.

Ben
 
I've been without a dog for several years now and the great urge to find one is starting to come over me. It's amazing that while your story almost made me cry, it also kindled my desire for a new hunting partner/family member. Great post.
 
Kyle,
Do yourself a favor and adopt a dog.

Kaden was surrendered to me from a family that picked him up as a pup when he was @ 8 weeks old.
over a year,
he was shot in the chest with a .22mag.

He survived with a few stitches and a couple of folks beating the shooter down.

then his family had 3 children in short order.

The dog was chained up in the back yard all the time
the neighbors dogs rag dolled him (since he was on a chain and couldn't defend himself)


A friend of a friend flagged me down about mid Thanksgiving about the dog.
She is a dog expert, and the dog belonged to a gal she knew very well...

She's seen the dog and knew it had great potential.

I said "i'll take it"
and I did.

and he's been a godsend.


He's about 4 yrs old, and pretty rambunctious (goldens are this way).

You owe it to yourself to get a dog.

It will be a healthy outlet and maybe save its life, and make yours longer and happier and better.

Reach out to your friends here on the site,

Once in a while, a super dog runs up against a bad spell of luck, and there are lots of folks on here that can point you towards dogs that may not be brand spanking new puppies,

But they'd eat bees for you in a short time

I was drowning and a lot of boats went by
nobody helped me until I said "hey, I need some help here"
and waved my arms like crazy.
 

Great story Todd! This dog you adopted is a Golden retriever?
 
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Yep, He is a golden.
A very different experience than Ol' Alex. A Swell dog with a great nose and lots of fire.

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He'll even bring me a cold beer once in a while.

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Sometimes you get to read something that is just on a whole other level-that's exactly what this story was. Thank you so much for posting this Tod. You have a real gift for putting feelings that are almost inexpressible into words.
 
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